I wrap myself in the möbius arch
from inside out incessantly,
the diamond drill bit carves sounds into the flesh,
your footsteps take off.
No armor fits me,
today at the supermarket the salesman whispered to me:
it’s because there is a sword thrust into your chest!
I laughed at first, didn’t believe him,
dropped the bags of dreams on the floor:
it can’t be, I shouted, it can’t be,
I’ve been that way since forever!
Yes, he smiled, and pointed to the slightly protuberant
gilded knob
here is why caresses hurt
and everything I touched with my heart bled.
Your hands were flickering into the night,
cauterizing the tear.
(poem published in the volume "catacombe. aici totul e viu" ("catacombs. everything is alive here"), Vinea Publishing House, Bucharest, 2008, p. 57. English translation: Simona Sumanaru.)
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